Bet on me
by Syblime
Summary: Branson comes back from war injured, Sybil comes back from London frustrated and by chance they meet in America. They then travel to Ireland together... Nominated for a Highclere award 2014! Thank you so much!
1. Chapter 1

_Thank you to Ariadne for beta-ing for me!_

_I don't know if this fits in with S.2 at all but i hope you enjoy it anyway._

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><p>Branson stared around the ward. He had been there three weeks now, although he remembered very little from the first week. A number of beds were now empty. The previous inhabitants either been discharged or taken away. Branson knew he was lucky. His injury wasn't that serious, and it didn't prevent him from doing much. Except driving, that is.<p>

He'd already been told that he was being discharged today and had sent a telegram to Carson asking if someone could meet him at the station. Now he stared at the monotonous grey ceiling above him, as he tried to think of what he would say to Lord Grantham. A nurse came and checked his wrist before telling him that he was welcome to leave. He had packed his bag on the day they first told him he would be leaving, so all he had to do now was pack the last few painkillers and an extra sling, before following the nurse out of the ward. The hospital car drove him to the nearest station so he could board the train.

Watching the countryside roll past he pondered what he would do once he got to Downton. The army had promised all soldiers good money for their services once the war ended; but since it ended last week, they had a lot of people to pay. For now, he only had enough money to keep himself for a day or two. That meant he could either stay in the village for a couple of days, and have nothing to support himself afterwards, or he could travel to Ireland straight away. The doctors at the hospital had advised him to rest, and by their standards that did not mean traipsing across the country by train. He supposed Lord Grantham might help, but it was not guaranteed.

A billow of smoke drifted past the window to reveal the station. He took his bag and climbed down from the train.

"Branson!" Lord Grantham was waving his hat like he had done all those years ago, before he announced that the country was at war. Branson hadn't expected this welcome.

"Milord," he acknowledged his former employer.

"Carson said you were coming, and I had some business in the village to attend to. I rather took to driving myself after you left, and Edith gave me some advice." Robert noticed the sling under Branson's jacket. "What happened?" His tone was encouraging.

"It wasn't much," Branson answered and Robert found himself smiling at the familiar Irish accent. "A piece of shrapnel hit my wrist." Branson decided that this was a good time to explain his predicament. "As a matter of fact, milord, I wanted to talk to you about that. I can't move it, which means I can't drive. I can't do anything with that hand." Lord Grantham could sense that the young man was worried.

"What will you do?" he asked. Branson's gaze dropped.

"I don't know." He debated whether he should tell Lord Grantham of his actual intentions, but decided against it. The earl had never liked his politics. As they made to leave, Branson stopped abruptly. "Would it be a bother, milord, if I check the train times to Ireland?"

Robert raised an eyebrow at the request. "You're not staying?"

"I'm not sure that I can afford to." Branson couldn't meet his gaze.

"The chauffeur's cottage is empty if you would like to stay."

"That's generous milord, but I'd better check the times anyway." Robert watched him as he wandered over to the timetable. The man's spirit had been broken somewhat by war, but he still had the same determination that he carried into the library on his first day.

Branson hardly spoke in the car, but Robert noticed how his expression softened as they drove down the familiar road. The drives back and fourth with Lady Sybil were still very dear to the chauffeur. As they drove through the Gothic arch and into the Abbey grounds, Branson finally broke the silence.

"It's good to be back here," he said. "It takes you back. Happier times I suppose."

"I'm glad you were happy here." Robert smiled at him before concentrating on parking the car, not yet up to Branson's old standard. They both got down from the car and were met at the door by Carson, who, Branson noted, still wore the same expression of dignity.

"My Lord," he greeted them, "Mr Branson."

"Come into the library." Lord Grantham motioned to the door. Branson nodded to Carson before walking into the room. It was just as he remembered, the red sofas and shelves of books all glistening with the knowledge that they contained.

"Now, Branson," Robert began, "I know you will be anxious to see everyone again, but at some point we will need to discuss your position and the possibility of hiring a new chauffeur. I won't keep you now. Here." He handed Branson the bunch of keys to the garage.

"Thank you, milord. I understand."

Branson went to the garage and the rooms above which had been his home, before going to see everyone. He needed to freshen up. He dumped his bag by the door before taking in the surroundings. There were a couple of books neatly stacked on one of the small tables with a note on top. Branson smiled as he read the scrawl;

_Thank you so much,_

_these kept me sane!_

_Your friend_

_Sybil. X _

He had let her borrow them before he left. He was still smiling as he got a small glass out of the cupboard but frowned when he remembered that he could not run the tap with his other hand. After a little more effort than was previously required and a few chosen words he placed the now full glass on the table next to the books before looking through his bag for the painkillers.

~x~

"Branson! Haven't seen you in a while!"

"Hello Anna." He was welcomed as if he had come home and he had to admit to himself, Downton felt like home.

"Mr Branson!"

"Mrs Hughes," he addressed the housekeeper.

"Sit down, my lad, you're making the place look untidy."

"Has anyone seen that Daisy?" Mrs Patmore Shouted. Branson laughed. The cook was still chasing that poor girl.

"Coming Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy came running down the stairs wearing a housemaid's dress. With all the men away, Branson supposed, they needed all the help they could get. She did a double take when she saw him. "Oh, hello!" She was going to stop and chat but got another sharp "Daisy!" from Mrs Patmore. She threw him an apologetic smile and rushed into the kitchen.

"Hello again." Mr Bates walked in and took his usual seat. "Are you back for good?" he asked hopefully.

"From war, yes. Other than that, I'm not sure." Branson had taken the sling off, making it hard for anyone to detect his injury. The room was suddenly still.

"You're… Surely, you're not thinking of leaving Downton, are ya?" Anna asked the question everyone was thinking.

"I'm not sure that I can stay." The vague response was very strange coming from the usually forward chauffeur. He quickly changed the subject. "Is anyone else back?"

"There was a letter from Mr Crawley saying he'd be back soon," Anna informed him. "Other than that, you're the only one."

"There are some perks to getting wounded then," Branson said, more to himself than to anyone else.

"What happened?" The housekeeper was staring at him, unable to take in his last statement. Branson looked up, almost unaware that he had said anything.

"Oh, shrapnel in my wrist. It's not that bad." He really didn't want to talk about it. "Any food yet? I'm starving!"

Branson's injury became more apparent over dinner. Anna asked him to pass the jug of water to her, which he did with his right hand. Luckily Mrs Patmore had made a stew so he just used a fork. He used his right hand to pick up his drink and he handed Mrs Patmore his plate, carefully balancing it in one hand. Meanwhile his left wrist lay dormant on the table.

"I'd better go and see to Lady Mary." Anna stood up as the bell rang and Daisy almost fell backwards off the stool she was perched upon.

"I never lit her fire!" She ran up the stairs behind Anna.

"You can't do her fire in that." Anna motioned to the housemaid's dress. Daisy wasn't used to her double position yet, so she found herself changing as much as the ladies of the house.

"So what has been happening here lately?" Branson started the conversation.

"Nothing." O'Brien bluntly finished it.

"What was it like out there?" One of the junior members of staff had obviously been bursting to ask.

"Terrifying," Branson flatly finished. It had been hell and he was glad to be out of it.

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><p><em>TBC eventually...<em>

_Reviews welcome :)_

_Enjoy Seies 2!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for the kind reviews! Your comments make it seem more worthwhile!_

_This fic is almost an extension from the Sybil/Branson section of my story 'After the Storm' (especially for frostyblossom)_

_Also thank you Ariadne for helping me again! _

_Hope you enjoy it! :)_

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><p>Branson slept better that night than he had done in months. Being back in familiar surroundings had calmed him down considerably. Also he felt a sense of freedom. He had no schedule of work, no army drill, no obtrusive nurses. Today he could do whatever he wanted.<p>

He stretched his limbs and let his head fall back against the pillow. The last time he had felt this free was just after he had been shot the first time. There had been a large offensive planned for ages and he got hit within the first few days of action. He was sent to a hospital in London, where he was reunited with Sybil. It was awkward at the start with her nursing him but slowly they adapted to their circumstances. When he was discharged from the hospital he took her to the movies and to dances. It felt so natural, him and her together. A soldier and a nurse. No expectations.

Slowly the tremors in his shoulder subsided and they knew then that their time was limited. They spent every minute they could with each other, with Sybil even deserting her family at Christmas. They were together right up to the moment his train pulled out of the station, taking him back to the battlefield.

He pushed aside the memories and joined everyone in the servant's hall for breakfast.

"Ah, Mr Branson, His Lordship wishes to talk to you in the library. You will go up at eleven" Carson informed him as he drank his coffee.

At the appointed hour, Branson made his way up the stairs.

"Branson! Robert said you were back" Lady Grantham greeted him. "He will be here in a minute."

"Thank you, milady" he replied, surprised. He hadn't expected this level of contact with the family.

"Mama." Edith walked in with a letter. "Captain Smiley has written again." She looked up to see Branson.

"Look who's back!" Lady Grantham spoke as if he was a family friend.

"Does this mean that I'll have to relinquish the use of the car?" Edith tried to make a joke of it but she looked rather downhearted.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Lord Grantham walked in with Isis, before Cora had the chance to reply.

"I'll leave you to it." Lady Grantham left and Edith began to follow her.

"Edith, I'd like you to stay if you can," her father requested. "Branson, you don't mind, do you?"

"No, milord."

"I've thought about this predicament," Lord Grantham began, "and I've decided that since Edith, Mary and I can drive, it would be pointless hiring a new chauffeur. Cora will have to ask one of us if she wishes to go anywhere. Edith, you wouldn't mind this arrangement, would you?"

"No, I don't mind driving, but why…" She was looking closely at Branson.

"My injury prevents me from driving," he stated. "When did Lady Mary learn to drive, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Lavinia taught her," Edith told him. "She's already picked up some funny habits." Branson smiled at that. He had taught her well.

"So that just leaves Sybil," Lord Grantham said with a note of despair in his voice.

"Maybe Lady Edith could teach her?" Branson suggested.

"We can discuss this another time. Now, Branson, I was also wondering whether you had any future plans. I am willing to offer you another position here, if it would be a help to you."

"That's generous milord. May I have time to consider that offer? I have no fixed plans, as yet, but I want to go home. After that I might have a clearer Idea of what I intend to do."

"Very well Branson. I think we've said everything that needed to be said."

"Thank you, your Lordship." He bowed slightly before leaving the room.

"What happened?" Lady Edith had followed him out. "Please, I'd like to help if I can."

"I don't need sympathy." Her eyes still sought the truth from him. "A piece of shrapnel hit my wrist, and before that I was shot in the shoulder." He still hated talking about it.

He went back to his cottage, glad that he wasn't going to be replaced. Now he had his own future to think about. He sat down at the table and began to pen out a letter.

When he returned to the army after his first injury, he had been re-stationed with an Irish officer because his previous regiment had been more or less wiped out at Cambrai. The two of them had quickly settled into conversation and found that they had a lot in common. They talked of home, like the other men did, but home was Ireland, and Ireland led to politics. Both dreamt of freedom for Ireland and each man had his own ideas for how that should happen. They spent hours discussing that and the other points they would have on their dream manifesto. Dreams were still important to the men at the front; although the numbers of battles were dwindling, the horrors of war were ever present.

He wrote and told this officer the extent of his injuries and asked whether there was any possibility of them actually going into politics. He gave the return address as his parent's house in Ireland.

He joined the rest of the staff again for luncheon. Mrs Patmore seemed to be winning the war over rationing; there was always plenty to eat, for both upstairs and down. The rest of the staff were still engaged in their duties and before long Anna and Ethel had disappeared upstairs. Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore went to talk with her Ladyship about menus for the following week. Daisy was washing the dinner plates. Only Branson and Bates were left.

"It seems war has rendered us men useless." Branson observed.

"I thought you, of all people would have been happy about that," the older man replied.

"I would have preferred equality." He paused. "I'm going down to the village, if you need anything."

The remaining days he spent collecting memories. He wandered around the estate, taking in the gardens, the follies and the outbuildings. He also devoured the Grantham Library for perhaps the last time.

By the end of the week he was back in Ireland.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sybil is in this one! Hope this chapter holds up to expectations. Once again thank you to Ariadne for all her help!_

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><p>It was May 1919 before Sybil was no longer needed at the London hospital. She bid farewell to her Aunt Rosamund, whom she had been staying with at the weekends as part of her father's conditions for letting her go to London, and got the train home. Edith met her at the station and the porter carried her bags to the car.<p>

"Is Branson not here?" Sybil asked her sister. "I thought he was back from the war."

"He is; back from war, that is. He came to see us just after the armistice was signed. He stayed for about three days and then went back to Ireland," Edith told her.

"So he left Downton?" Sybil asked, surprised.

"That's what I just said. Papa says that he has gone all political again. I believe there was even something in the paper a few weeks ago about him."

"Oh."

"Sybil, are you okay? You're very quiet suddenly."

"I'm fine. I just thought he might have said goodbye." She tried to keep her voice inconspicuous.

"He did ask to be remembered to you, and when Papa drove him to the station apparently he asked about your nursing and said he wished you well with it."

"Wait, Papa drove him?" Sybil asked, shocked.

"Oh yes. I taught Papa to drive." Edith sounded rather proud of herself. "Branson can't now because of his injury."

"But his shoulder didn't prevent him from driving!" Sybil exclaimed.

"No, not his shoulder, his wrist. Anyway how do you know about that? He didn't tell Papa. Or any of the servants, from what I could gather." Edith was now looking at Sybil in slight confusion.

Sybil blushed. She hadn't told her family that she had seen Tom in London. "Oh, I was on duty when he was brought in."

"What, you nursed him?"

"Yes." Her admission felt more poignant than it sounded.

"You never said." Edith seemed oblivious to her sister's discomfort at the turn of the conversation. "When was this?"

"I can hardly remember," Sybil lied. She knew exactly when. She couldn't forget! She had hated lying to her family about working over Christmas, but keeping up the charade proved to be even harder, especially under the nose of Aunt Rosamund. Luckily, even if Rosamund had suspected her of anything, she would never have thought it to be their chauffeur.

Once the sisters arrived back at Downton, Sybil took her cases and climbed up the stairs. She had just started unpacking when Mary sauntered in.

"Darling, aren't you going to come down? We haven't seen you for months." Mary paused. "What are you doing?"

"Unpacking." Sybil told her.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Let Anna do that." She walked over to the side of the bed and rang the bell.

"Mary, I am perfectly capable…" Sybil protested, but Mary cut her off.

"We are waiting in the drawing room."

The commotion downstairs was more than she had expected, with everyone asking her about different aspects of her life in London, as if it had been very different. Eventually the conversation turned to life at Downton, which seemed to have changed quite little, to the relief of the Dowager Countess. Sybil was left feeling strangely out of place, as she realised what different paths she and her family had taken. It was as if she was an outsider, looking in on a different world.

The following morning Sybil got up, got dressed as was usual for her and joined her father and sisters for breakfast. After she had eaten she went back up to her room and made her bed, before she started to unpack another of her cases. She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Lady Sybil?" Anna questioned.

"Hello Anna! How are you?" Sybil brightly greeted her as she hung another of her dresses up.

"I'm well milady, thank you." Anna was confused by the turn of events. "Is… Is there anything you want me to do, milady?"

"No, there's nothing. I was just going to do my laundry."

"Milady, I'll take it." Anna was unused to Sybil's independence. "I'm not sure that Mrs Hughes will be happy if she sees you with your own washing."

"It's alright. I can easily manage on my own," Sybil gathered the bundle of clothes together and walked out of the room. Anna followed her down the main stairs apprehensively.

"Sybil! What are you doing?" Lady Grantham walked across the great hall. "Give that to Anna at once."

"But Mama…" Sybil began to argue.

"It's alright, milady, I'll take it" Anna gently prised the bundle away from Lady Sybil and hurried away down the servants' stairs. Cora gave her youngest a reprimanding glance and walked away. Sybil was left feeling redundant, a feeling which did not leave her for the rest of the day.

At lunch she wandered down to the kitchen, as had been her habit, to make herself something to eat. She was met by a torrent of abuse from Mrs Patmore, who had spent the morning preparing lunch for the family.

As the meal ended, she took Edith's plate and piled it on top of her own. She was about to reach for another when she noticed the horrified looks that she was getting from the rest of her family. She muttered a half-hearted apology and slouched back in her chair. This was met with more disapproval.

Mary followed her back to her room as the family dispersed after lunch. "Try not to pull anymore stunts tonight. Granny is coming for dinner," she warned her.

That afternoon Sybil ended up walking around the grounds, for lack of anything else to do. She was missing her job already. She spent the time mulling over possibilities for her future; her life at Downton was already making her feel restricted in a way she hadn't felt in London. She sighed despondently. She couldn't even sneak down to the garage to see Tom.

She made her way back upstairs and changed into a clean, albeit plain dress. She walked out of her room and was pounced upon by Edith.

"You can't wear that! Anna," Edith called back into her own room, where the maid still was, "can you please come and help Sybil?"

"For heavens sake, can I do nothing for myself here?" Sybil exclaimed as she was herded back into her room and made to change into one of her more elaborate evening gowns.

"I understand from Edith that Branson was here," Sybil asked her father, over dinner.

"Yes he was. He asked to be remembered to you," Robert informed her.

Sybil bit her tongue. She could never forget Tom. "Edith also said he was in the newspaper?"

"Irish nationalists have been trying to get a man into the Paris Peace Conference. Branson and some other soldiers petitioned the King. I hope to God it doesn't turn violent. I'm not sure that this country can afford a second Easter Rising, not after the war." He took another fork full of beef. Sybil tried to take in this latest information. Tom really had made something of himself. He really was in politics.

"Sybil, dear, you must be glad to be back." Sybil snapped out of her reverie at the sound of her grandmother.

"Actually, Granny, I miss my work. I feel so useless here," she admitted.

"But everything is back to how it was. You don't need to 'do your bit' now that the war is over. You can get back to being a lady."

"It's not back to how it was." She nearly blurted out "Tom is not here to drive me to places" which was what her brain was screaming, but she managed to stop herself and splutter "William and Thomas aren't here serving gravy," before she betrayed the name of the man she was really thinking about. "Everything has changed. Besides, a lot of women have kept their jobs, so why shouldn't I? Nurses are needed in peace, as well as in war."

"We can discuss this in the morning," Cora said trying to diffuse the tension between the two most determined women in the room, at the same time glancing at Robert for backup.

"Why would you want to keep nursing?" Violet was not going to let the matter drop.

"It gives me a sense of purpose," Sybil began.

"And being a lady doesn't?" Violet snapped.

"Granny…" Mary joined in on her mother's plea for democracy, but she was drowned out by Sybil's desperate response.

"Not anymore. So many people have given their lives for us, for a better future. Can that be achieved by choosing clothes and doing the season? I need to actively do something."

"The last time you did 'something active for the cause' you got injured. I hope you don't intend to take the same path again," Edith added unhelpfully.

"This isn't for a cause," Sybil tried reasoning. "And, I didn't even benefit from the stupid law that was passed regarding the vote." She breathed out slowly, and took a different approach. "I want to keep nursing, simply because I enjoy it."

The argument continued until Cora stood up and walked out with Mary and Edith. Violet followed them, to adhere to tradition. Robert took his port to the library, leaving Sybil at the table with her head in her hands.

"God, Tom, I wish you were here. You always knew what to do," she muttered.

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><p><em>I promise there will be a chapter with them both in at some point!<em>

_As always I would love to know what you thought!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for all the alerts and comments. It really means a lot to me that people are enjoying this!_

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><p>The next morning, Sybil found herself once again doing battle with her family. Cora was gently trying to persuade her to rethink her options when Violet turned up. Sparks flew as more and more reasons were put forward as to why nursing was an unsuitable occupation for a young lady. Eventually, Sybil stormed out of the house, unable to take anymore.<p>

"I still don't understand why she has such a bee in her bonnet over all this," Violet piped up, breaking the heavy silence that followed Sybil's departure.

"Sybil's never been one for sticking to tradition." Mary still was unsure whether to support her sister or her grandmother on this argument.

"But why? We only want what is best for her," Violet demanded.

"Mary's right. Sybil has always been stubborn," Cora added.

"What are we going to do?" Violet was beginning to sound defeated.

"Well she won't fall for being married off," Edith made her point.

"Nobody will want to marry her if she keeps behaving like one of the servants," Mary chimed in.

"We could send her abroad," Cora said, with a little too much enthusiasm.

Mary couldn't prevent the slight laugh from escaping her lips. "What, so she can ruin herself there instead of here?"

"No, Mary, your mother is right. Abroad will be the only option, but I think Rome is no longer a possibility. Plus it's less suited to Sybil. We will have to think of somewhere else, and someone will need to keep an eye on her."

"But where? I'm not having her roaming around some battlefield that used to be France." Cora was ever protective of her youngest.

"There is an obvious solution, my dear, that is staring us in the face." A slow smile spread over the Dowager Countess's face. "I think the situation can be deemed desperate enough to send her to your own fair country."

"America," Cora said, as if it needed verifying.

"If she stayed with relatives, no one would need to go with her. Your aunt wouldn't mind, would she?" Violet asked Cora.

"My aunt?" Cora was still trying to grasp this latest plan for Sybil.

"Yes, your aunt in New York. My dear, do you believe that I do not listen to anything?" Violet gently reprimanded her daughter in law.

~x~

While her family remained inside, Sybil was fuming in the fresh air, out of doors. Why couldn't they just let her do what she felt compelled to do? Why did she have to 'be a lady' always? Why wasn't Tom here to help her? She paced back and forth across the lawn for what felt like an eternity, but was only a few minutes. As she paced she calmed down. She couldn't stay angry with her family. She resolved to agree to remain at Downton. She knew that somehow she would still keep her independence. She strolled back to the house, and slowly and purposefully made her way back to the drawing room.

"…So it's settled then. We will send her to New York," Violet concluded.

Sybil's jaw dropped. She'd been prepared to make peace, and they were sending her away. Away from everything she knew. Away from Tom.

"Sybil!" Edith noticed her sister in the doorway. It was too late. Sybil turned and fled. She slammed her bedroom door behind her. Mary was the first to come up, then Edith, and finally Cora. She wouldn't talk to them though. She sat on her bed, hugging her pillow to her, with angry tears staining her cheeks.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. "Milady, might I come in?" Anna asked, not pressing her further. Sybil walked over to unlock the door. Anna walked into the centre of the room before commencing. "Her ladyship is worried about you."

"Is she? The last I heard, she was sending me to America."

"They all care about you, milady." Anna waited for a response. When she didn't get one, she added, "We all care about you as well."

Fresh tears began to well up in Sybil's clear blue eyes. "Oh, Anna."

"There's something else, milady, and I'm not sure if I should… well, it's not really appropriate but…" She pulled a bundle of letters from her apron. "I asked him, Branson, to write to us, to tell us when he was settled. He wrote back and asked if I would keep a letter for you, for when you returned to Downton." Anna laughed. "It turned out to be more than one. He seemed to think you wouldn't approve, but he didn't know if he would see you again. I can send them back if you don't…"

Sybil reached out, taking the letters and gently caressing the paper with her thumb. "From Tom," she barely whispered. She untied the piece of thread which Anna had tied around them. On the front, they were addressed to Anna. On the back, there was a tiny 'S' marked in the corner. None of them were opened. Carefully she opened them, one by one. Fragments of phrases, in his clear, sloping hand writing, stood out before her eyes.

_Lady Sybil,_

_I know we agreed in London that we would not contact each other, in case somebody found out, but I do not know if I will ever return to Downton. I need to talk to you somehow, and even if these letters never reach you, at least I can express myself more clearly… My dearest friend… I am finally off the painkillers… I really have made it into politics… Gwen once said, the most powerful thing anyone ever said to her was 'Your dream is my dream now. I'll make it come true'. You gave her hope…Ireland is cold… Live your dreams. Don't be afraid to follow them, even if other people doubt you… I miss you… Darling Sybil… Writing to you helps… It's been two years since I left you in London… I have hope that things will start progressing quicker now… Stay strong…_

_Your friend, now and always _

_Tom._

They gave her a strange account in terms of politics and places, of his life since she had seen him last. He sounded quite philosophical; professional in a way he hadn't previously. She looked up to find herself alone amongst the scattered papers. Anna must have slipped out. Sybil felt the impulsive need to thank her, so she rang the bell. Quickly she piled the letters back together before concealing them beneath her pillow.

"Anna, I can't thank you enough for what you've done," Sybil poured out as soon as the maid entered the room. "I needed to hear…" she broke into a fresh wave of tears. Anna sat down on the bed beside her.

"Milady, Branson is respected because he has travelled. I remember his first week; everyone downstairs wanted to hear about the places he'd seen. To the rest of us, who have barely ventured outside Yorkshire, he was quite intriguing. So, milady, don't see travel as a bad thing, take it as an opportunity." Sybil could only nod at Anna's optimistic view of her situation. "Milady, shall I tell her Ladyship that you will talk to her?"

"Give me a moment. If she sees me like this, she'll ask questions." It was an ambiguous statement, but Anna understood.

~X~

Within a fortnight, Sybil was once again standing on a platform, saying goodbye to the people she loved. She had said a rather cold farewell to her grandmother the previous evening.

"Now, darling, remember to write as often as you can, and if my mother is there, try not to encourage her about coming over to see us. Have a wonderful time, but try to think about your future. If, upon your return, you still want to be a nurse we will fully support you in that decision."

"Thank you, mama," Sybil said as they embraced.

"I thought London was far enough away. Now you're going to America. Be careful, Sybil." Robert hugged his youngest daughter. "My library will now be completely devoid of use again, what with both you and Branson gone." He chuckled and she tried to as well.

"Maybe Matthew will surprise you. Goodbye papa." Sybil then said goodbye to her sisters and boarded the train. As she sat in the compartment, she felt Tom's letters in her pocket and smiled. She waved to her family as the train slowly pulled away, taking her somewhere new and exciting.


	5. Chapter 5

New York City was an amazing place, Sybil couldn't deny that, but after seeing the same sights for a week, it grew boring. So her surprise was all the greater when, on a shopping trip with her cousins, they came across a political rally in a normally desolate park. Sybil unconsciously slowed her pace and tried to hear what was being said. Unfortunately she couldn't see the speaker, even when she was standing on her tiptoes.

"Sybil, are you coming?" one of her cousins asked.

"I think I'll stay here. I can make my own way back," she replied.

"But what if it starts to get…" her cousin began to argue, but gave up after one defiant look from Sybil. Her zeal for politics and stubborn nature was almost as famous with her family in New York as it was back at home.

Once her cousins had gone, she began to push her way forward through the large crowd. From what she could tell, the speaker was talking about freedom for Ireland. Typical. She had travelled all the way to America, and the only politics being offered to her was the same sort of thing she had discussed with Tom on many a car journey.

She was nearing the front, getting wrapped up in the broad Irish tones, the lyrical lilt that once again swept her away. Just as Tom's voice had done, all those years ago. Suddenly the man in front of her moved, giving her a clear view of the makeshift speaker's platform. To Sybil it felt like her heart stopped, and she couldn't prevent a gasp from escaping her lips. Her eyes were transfixed; she couldn't stop staring at him. At Tom. Her Tom. He looked older, but not much, and there were no clues to his wartime experience, not like some of the men she had nursed. His gorgeous blue eyes still sparkled, and he was wearing that devilish grin that she loved so much.

He finished talking and stepped down form the platform, handing over to another man, who began to talk about party policies. Sybil was no longer listening. The new speaker's accent lacked Tom's warmth and passion. Tom had a way with words, when he spoke and when he wrote. She had spent the whole of her journey to New York trying to pen out a reply to his letters, but the words eluded her. Even his presence had a profound effect on people, or maybe that was just her. She looked around at the crowd, all watching eagerly, applauding at the right moments. She was aware that none of them knew him like she did. Oh, they appreciated his speech, but they did not know the history and motivation behind it. His past experiences of service, and warfare. The struggles between England and Ireland. The scar on his left shoulder. The barriers that existed between ladies and chauffeurs. Sybil smiled at that. They had smashed a lot of the rules of propriety that Christmas, in London. No wonder he was a feisty politician.

~x~

Tom began to make his way through the crowd. It had been a long day, and he wanted to get back to where he was staying. He pushed his way past more people. Every one of these events reminded him of that fateful day in Ripon, the memory of her body lying so still on the cobbled stones. He tried to wipe the image from his mind, only for it to be replaced by a new one as she suddenly appeared in front of him. He blinked. It was her. She was really here, looking around as if she was waiting for someone, getting jostled by the crowd, and he was too far away to help her.

"Sybil!"

She could almost have been back in 1914. People pushing past her and the unexpected call of her name. Then he was walking towards her, unknowingly stirring her emotions with every step he took. She wanted to run to him, to hug him and never let go. But so much time had passed-well, just over a year- and so much had happened in that time. She felt as if she was closer to him than ever before; the intimacy of his letters and the lack of understanding she now had with her family, made her feel connected to Tom in a way she hadn't previously known. But meeting out of context suddenly scared her.

"Tom," she whispered in greeting when he stopped just a few feet in front of her.

"Milady, what are you doing here?" He took a polite approach, not really sure where they stood after all this time.

"I could ask you the same question!"

"Politics." It was that simple. "I'm spreading publicity for the Sinn Fein."

"I'm staying with my great-aunt and cousins. We were going to go shopping but I saw this and… well, you know what I'm like."

"Yes, yes I do. So you heard the speeches. What did you think?"

"To be honest, I missed most of it. Once you'd stepped down, my interest lapsed." They laughed together. It felt so good, so natural.

"Where are you headed, milady, or were you planning on staying here longer?" he asked, looking around them at the dissipating crowd.

"I suppose I should get back, but please call me Sybil. You did in your letters," she added slyly.

He smiled. "So you got them then?" His hand was protectively against her back as they navigated their way through the remaining rabble.

"Yes. Anna gave them to me. I hadn't been having a good day. I told my family that I want to continue nursing, and they didn't take it well." Branson could hear the sadness in her voice as she relayed the story. He turned her so they were facing each other.

"Sybil, are you alright? Are you coping with it all?" he asked, genuinely concerned for her. She broke eye contact and looked down, before nodding slightly. She couldn't stop the reflex and brought her hand to her face to try and stop herself from crying. His hand gently stroked her upper arm soothingly.

"I feel like they've banished me," she admitted. "It feels as if I've disgraced them because I want to work. Is that really so terrible?" She looked up at him for an answer.

"No," he reassured her. "The terrible thing is that they haven't let you choose." He wanted to hold her, brush away her tears, maybe even kiss her. But he couldn't do it. Some rules of propriety still had not been breached. So instead they just stood there, together.

He walked her back to the house. It felt so right, walking arm in arm, just as it had in London. They stopped a little way down the street, to prevent any unwanted gossip reaching Yorkshire.

"Sybil, may I perhaps see you again? I've missed you so much."

"Of course!" she answered even before he had finished talking.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Shall I pick you up on Monday?"

"Can you meet me here again? Give me a time and I will make sure I'm out of the house."

"Shall we say eight o'clock, to give us the whole day, or is that too early?"

"No, Tom, that's perfect." She was smiling so sweetly, he felt compelled to do something. He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Until Monday." It was a promise.

* * *

><p><em>Yay they are back together! :)<em>

_Can I thank everyone who has reviewed for smashing my previous record of 7 reviews. You guys have more than doubled it! (I like statistics!) Thank you!_

_Sinn Fein is a left wing political party that was active in trying to get freedom for Ireland, for anyone who was wondering!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry that this has taken so long! Real life sometimes gets in the way, and it doesn't help that my inspiration is wavering! Anyway I hope you enjoy it. :)_

* * *

><p>On Monday, Sybil stepped out of the front door and turned to walk a short way down the road to meet Tom.<p>

"Sybil!" He was almost running towards her. "Sybil, something's come up." Her expression changed from one of joy to one of anguish in a mere second.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's nothing to look so worried about," he said, rather amused by her concern. "Sybil, the American Senate is meeting to debate women's suffrage during the next couple of days. If we go now, we might catch some of the action in Washington. Some of the other party members are going, but I thought you might be interested."

"To go to Washington?" she said in disbelief.

"Yes." His eyes were shining. "Only, we'd have to be quick, because they want to leave at ten."

Sybil appreciated the way he was leaving the decision to her. She took a few steps, trying to think. After a moment she turned back to him.

"What are we waiting for?" She grinned. He laughed.

"You might want to grab a bag to take with you. We'll probably be gone a few days." He scanned her features for any signs of reluctance, but he saw none.

"I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting," he called as she dashed back into the world of splendour that she came from.

As soon as she was in the house, she ran up the stairs. She took the case out from under her bed and began to pack everything she might need for a few days away. Skirts, blouses, a second pair of shoes, nightdresses, and anything else that she could fit in the bag, just in case she needed it. Her posh evening dresses could stay here. She hastily scribbled a note, grabbed the rest of her stationary, some money and another hat before rushing back outside.

Her mind was reeling as she rushed towards him, carrying her bag, two hats, and a most endearing smile.

"I'll take that," he said, reaching out for her case. She let him and then tried to slip her hand into his free hand. She felt him stiffen at the contact, before she realised.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She tried to gauge his reaction. "Does it still hurt?" He nodded slightly, enough just for her to notice. "May I?" After years of medical training, she was better equipped to deal with these circumstances. He winced again as she took his wrist in her own hands. The scars still looked angry, unsurprising given their location. He was lucky that he hadn't lost his hand completely.

"The pain isn't the problem," he admitted, slowly. "It's the fact I can't bloody feel it." From staring at the ground, he looked up at her. "We'd better go, if you're still sure?"

~x~

He had warned her that the group he had sided with for the time being were quite radical and very left wing.

"They might not like spending time with an English lady," she had joked.

"Hopefully, because this is like a holiday, nothing will happen. But just be aware that they are fighting against the English aristocracy."

"So it's best not to introduce myself as Lady Sybil Crawley."

"No." His voice was serious.

Now approaching the group, she felt a bit silly for joking about the whole matter. To be fair, they were just the people Tom worked with. It would be like Matthew taking Mary on a solicitor's day out. She tried to steady her breathing, not wanting to admit that she was nervous.

The pair of them were met by a loud wolf whistle. "Where'd you find her, eh, Tom?"

"Is she coming with us then?"

Sybil looked up at Tom. His expression was steely and gave no clue as to his response to their laughter.

"I need to get my bag, I left it in the room." He indicated to the hotel they were standing in front of. She prised her own bag away from him.

"I'll come." They began to walk in together, but were met by more abuse.

"Ha, there's no time for _that_ now. The train leaves at ten."

"Is she safe following you up there?"

"She's safer than she'd be staying here with you lot," Tom snapped back at them, whilst guiding Sybil into the reception and towards the stairs. "Sybil, I'm sorry about that." He didn't know what else to say. She was the daughter of an aristocrat; there was nothing in her upbringing which would have prepared her for dealing with a bunch of randy politicians. Now he was planning on forcing them into her company for a few days. Maybe his idea wasn't as good as it had sounded in his head. He began to voice his doubts when she stopped him, her finger against his lips. She smiled at the contact.

"Tom, it's alright. I want to go." He took her hand in his and slowly brought them back to their sides. She was still looking at him intently, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips. He leant into her, capturing her mouth with his own. God, he'd wanted this to happen for so long, and now that is was, it didn't seem real.

Kissing him made everything seem perfect. She was finally free to do what she wanted, and god did she want to kiss him. The moment was just so wonderful, she never wanted it to end, but it did. Breathing was unfortunately obligatory.

"Maybe they were right. You might have been safer downstairs." He gently caressed the side of her face with his good hand.

"Oh, but I'm much happier here." She meant it. She was happier than she had been for months, years.

~X~

He handed the room key in at reception and then the group of them made their way to the train station. Sybil and Tom were rather overshadowed by his very vocal companions. In fact Sybil didn't say anything until they were on the train. The topic of conversation had turned to women's rights, and on that she had plenty to say! It turned out that her debates with Tom and her attempts to get her sisters to even listen to her views had enabled her to develop quite a skill for arguing.

Tom and his friend had been set the task of finding something to eat. They alighted when the train paused at the next station in the hope of finding something on the platform. It also gave them the chance to talk.

"So, where did you meet her?" It was a question Tom had been asked all day and had been deflecting with the greatest of skill.

"She was at the rally in New York," he replied. The other man looked disbelieving.

"Then where did she learn to talk like a politician?"

"In Ripon." Tom received a friendly shove.

"I knew some of those ideas sounded familiar. Is she your sweetheart then?"

"For this week, I think she might be," he said, wistfully.

"Why only this week? She's not engaged or anything, is she?"

"No. Nothing like that. She's just… well, she's the daughter of my former employer. I've been in love with her since before the war, but there's no way her parents would let me have her." He was silent for a moment. "Don't tell the others."

"Why not?"

"I don't want them to treat Sybil differently, just because she is the daughter of a lord. Luckily, so far, they've been quite amicable."

Back on the train, after they'd eaten, Tom once again found himself thinking that he had not thought this through enough.

"Before you came, we decided that it would be best to just stay on the train. That way we would arrive faster, but if you want to stop, I'm sure we could find a hotel."

"Tom! Stop treating me as if I am Mary. I don't mind sleeping on the train; there are worse things going on in the world." She gently touched his cheek in reassurance. "Anyway, I've got a better pillow here than I would have in any hotel," she grinned. He shook his head playfully and wrapped his arm around her.


	7. Chapter 7

_Inspiration came back! :) I overloaded on Chemistry revision, eventually calmed down a bit and wrote 3 pages straight off._

_Sorry it's so late, but I really hope you like it!_

_Thanks again to Ariadne and to everyone who has reviewed!_

_Lastly Merry Christmas for the weekend! _

* * *

><p>Sybil awoke still leaning against Tom. From her position against his chest, she couldn't tell whether he was still asleep or not. Slowly she stretched her limbs, smiling at the confinement of his arm which was still curled possessively around her waist.<p>

"You're awake," he stated, her slight movements having alerted him.

"Hmm." She pulled back to look up at him. "Good morning."

He smiled at her. "Good morning."

She sat up properly and looked about the compartment, scattered with sleeping politicians, and to the world that was flashing past the window. Tom watched her, noting how her hair had come loose overnight and now cascaded over her shoulder. She looked so beautiful.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, providing a distraction for his wandering mind.

"Coffee would be great." She smiled at him.

Tom returned with two steaming cups to find Sybil in full debate with one of his colleagues, who still looked half asleep. Tom laughed, settled himself back down and began collecting all of Sybil's lost hairpins.

~x~

Sybil flopped onto the bed in her hotel room, utterly happy. Travel, politics and Tom - her three favourite things - and the last couple of days had been filled with them. The atmosphere in Washington was electric; women had been recognised and given the vote. Equality was fast becoming a global reality, Sybil thought to herself. A realisation from the dreams she and Tom had shared.

She thought back to how it had all started. As a little girl she liked to query things, like why the maids didn't dress for dinner like mama did, but her upbringing taught her not to ask questions. However, with attention primarily focused on Mary, Sybil often rebelled. The breakthrough really though was when Tom arrived and handed her those pamphlets. He showed her the world outside of Downton, and now he was showing her the world beyond England.

She wondered whether she would have had the courage without him to follow her ambitions and become an unfettered woman. Maybe she would still be the naive girl she once was, with no aspiration to become a nurse. Relenting to her parents every wish, choosing gowns and remaining at Downton until some peer came along to marry her. Somehow both her sisters were still single so maybe it wouldn't have happened anyway. Although she hoped desperately that her independence would have been what saved her from that fate, rather than luck or chance.

As she was getting lost in her thoughts, a group of politicians were gathering outside her room. A sharp knock brought her back to reality.

"Sybil." The proposition began as soon as she opened the door. "With the announcement today, we feel that women are going to be vital in the world of politics."

She raised an eyebrow and placed her hand on her hip, not knowing where this speech was going.

"As a political party, we should be the ones leading the way in the promotion of women's rights and social equality. So we wondered if you would do us the great pleasure of becoming an honorary member of the party."

Sybil's expression changed completely, from suspicion to surprise.

"We are prepared to listen to your Ideas and put them forward as potential party policy." There was a pause. "Will you accept our proposal?"

She looked from one expectant face to another, the whole group of them standing there looking like school children awaiting either a scolding or a bag of sweets but not knowing which. She couldn't help but laugh. "I'd love to!"

Before she knew it, they were practically covering the room, brandishing a bottle of champagne. Glasses were handed round, and any chance of a peaceful evening evaporated.

"I'm assuming you accepted their scheme?"

Sybil turned to find Tom leaning casually against the door frame. She held up her glass. "Women's rights!" she exclaimed proudly. "Why, what do you…" She was cut off by more Irish tones.

"Miss Sybil, will you also accompany us on the rest of our tour of America?"

"Please? You make for excellent company!"

She could barely make sense of what they were asking: to go with them, to potentially give up everything she had ever known. "I'll think about it." It wasn't the answer they had obviously been hoping for, but it would suffice for now.

~X~

"Tom, can you stay?" Sybil had announced that she was tired and hinted that it was time to turn in, so slowly her guests had trundled back to their own rooms.

"I thought you were tired?"

She ignored his comment. "What do you think I should do?"

"What happened to women's rights? What I think doesn't matter; it's your choice, Sybil."

"But I want to know what you think," she pleaded, almost desperately. "So please tell me."

"I think I would love to spend the rest of our time here with you, but I understand how important your family is to you and that they might not be agreeable to the plan."

She moved so that she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I don't want to upset my parents or any of my family, but then I keep thinking how they practically pushed me out." He waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts. "If I wrote to my great aunt, I could explain the situation and ask for her to tell my parents that I am fine. Then perhaps I could come with you." She looked up, and Tom could see the determination in her eyes. "I want to come, so why shouldn't I?"

"That, my darling friend, is a very good question." He gently caressed her cheek, bid her a goodnight and left the room.

Sybil could tell from his eyes that she had made the right decision. She moved over to the little corner table and began to pen out a letter.

_My Dearest Family,_

_Please do not worry about me. I have had the good fortune to meet up with an old friend, who has provided me with the opportunity to visit more of America. I cannot convey in words how excited I am at this prospect. I do not know how long I will be gone, so I will take this opportunity to thank you for your kind hospitality. You are now as dear to me as my family back in England and I have enjoyed every minute of my stay._

_I ask you please to convey my good health and contentment to my mother, who will undoubtedly be worrying, even though there is no need. I am happy._

_Yours,_

_Sybil_


	8. Chapter 8

_I apologise for abandonment of this fic, but I'm only going to do it again (The next chapter is non-existant atm!). I have had a lot of work & I was concentrating on my Sherlock/Downton crossover fic *hint hint* so hopefully that is a partial excuse!_

_Thank you to Ariadne, as always, who has repeatedly corrected my infatuation with misplaced commas and random capitals!_

* * *

><p>"Cora, there's a letter from your aunt."<p>

Robert brought the missive up to his wife who had been resting on the chaise. She quickly opened it and scanned the contents. Cora then read it again more slowly, allowing the words to sink in, before looking up at her husband. Robert only had to look at Cora's wide eyes to know something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"Robert, I think we've lost Sybil. My aunt says they haven't heard from her at all recently. I told you she didn't have any past acquaintances in America."

"It's the politics! Didn't her last letter to your aunt say something about speeches in Carolina?"

"Only how good they were. Robert, do you think she's run away? After all, we didn't part on the best of terms and we've only had one letter from her in the whole of the time she has been there."

"I can't imagine she would have done that, unless there was trouble between her and your family, and your aunt's letters have never given any indication of uneasiness."

"Maybe she was kidnapped!"

"Cora!" Robert exclaimed, beginning to lose patience. "That's very unlikely, and if she had been, we wouldn't have heard from her at all. No, it's definitely the politics. We should have been more forceful when it started. The causes, then the nursing, and now look at what has happened. She has forgotten who she is."

"Or have we simply overlooked who she really is?"

"Cora, please don't go all American on me." He walked out of the door just as the dressing gong sounded, and within an instant Miss O'Brien and Bates were attentively preparing Lord and Lady Grantham for dinner with the family.

~X~

"Is it likely that our cousins were inconstant in their care for her?" Edith asked after her parents brought the matter up during the first course.

"You know Sybil. They probably told her to do one thing so she did the opposite."

"Mary! Don't be so harsh on your sister," Cora snapped. "I'm sure she'll turn up soon."

"Maybe we'll get a letter." Edith sounded hopeful, despite an immediate bitter feeling about her mother's comment. No one ever stood up for her.

"What do you think, Papa? Is it likely after a month of silence that we will hear from the estranged Crawley sister?" Mary meant it as a snipe at Edith, but Robert had not been watching her snide grin and answered in all seriousness.

"I don't think we will hear from her, no, unless she gets herself in so much trouble that it is splashed across the tabloids."

"Robert!" Cora attempted to reprimand her husband, but to keep her voice inconspicuous at the same time. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with that."

"Do with what?" Edith asked.

"Your mama and I don't agree on this. I believe her lack of communication is something to do with politics."

Mary's laughter surprised them all.

"Mary, this is no laughing matter," Cora said sternly.

"But you have to admit it's quite funny. The last time we had political uproar in the house what did Sybil say? 'I'll run away I warn you.' Now it looks like she has. Ironic, don't you think?"

~X~

On the other side of the Atlantic, the youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham was sitting in a bar with her group of left wing radicals. The difference in lifestyle could not have been much more pronounced, but Sybil was happy. She had allowed herself to forget the problems with her family and had barely contacted them, having been wrapped up in the mad world of politics. They had covered most of the East coast in the short month she had spent with them. More recently they had been joined by Éamon de Valera, a big name in Ireland according to Tom. He had organised this little meeting and judging by the serious faces, decisions needed to be made.

The happy mood had been flattened a bit since de Valera turned up. He had come straight to America from Paris, and was intent on gaining financial promises from the American government. He was not overly keen on the discovery that Sybil was accompanying the group and the pair of them had already had some clashes. Now he was dictating this meeting and the others did not look particularly happy about it.

Sitting towards the edge of the group, Sybil only caught bits of the discussion when it drifted over to her, usually when the majority were complaining against some scheme or another. However one thing really did catch her attention.

"Branson, you can go back, and take your piece of totty with ya," de Valera announced. This was met by mass uproar, and although Sybil was seething at this comment, she felt good that at least the rest of the group were all sticking up for her.

~X~

Having essentially been the one who secured their trip to America in the first place, Tom felt cheated at being sent back to Ireland, even if it was for 'promotional work in our own fair country'. It wasn't that he didn't want to go back exactly, it was just that here he had Sybil. He'd been glad at how vehemently the others had stuck up for her. She had certainly been embraced as a member of the group, but now he was to be parted from her again.

Sybil found Tom sitting on a bench outside with his head in his hand while the others were getting drunk in the bar. The cool evening air was refreshing. She sat down next to him without saying anything.

"I have to go back to Ireland." His voice was flat.

"I know," she admitted and he looked at her. "I heard."

He nodded. "What will you do?" he asked. "I'm assuming that you're not staying here, not with de Valera."

"It doesn't sound like I'm welcome company."

"I'll accompany you back to New York or even back to Downton if you'd like. I dragged you into this mess, so I'd better take you back."

"Don't talk like that Tom. You know I wouldn't have missed it." She looked into his eyes. "Anyway, I'm not sure that I want to go back."

"I'm not leaving you on your own in America," he shot back protectively.

"I don't want you to leave me anywhere." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Tom, are there really no other options? Must we just go home, and pretend that none of it ever happened?" She looked ahead, thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on a distant spot. "You know," she continued slowly, "I wish we could both just stay here. We could get a flat and debate politics every day. Maybe near a big city, but nowhere expensive."

He smiled a bit sadly at the adorable picture she painted and settled his arm around her shoulders. "I wish we could. I wish life was that simple."

~X~

Sybil had spent the evening in a rather gloomy bubble, excusing herself as soon as she had finished her meal and retiring to her room. She didn't sleep well either; she was restless and was constantly being tormented by strange dreams. By the early morning she had given up trying to sleep and just lay there, looking up at the ceiling. Eventually there was a knock at the door. She looked at the small clock beside the bed. It was still early.

"Sybil?" Tom whispered. She opened the door. He looked just as dishevelled and tired as she did. "Sybil, what about Ireland?"

Her expression softened a little as it dawned on her quite what he was offering.

"Why don't you come with me? I could show you where I grew up, and we'd still get to discuss politics and…"

He was silenced as she flung herself at him, moulding their lips together and wrapping her arms around his neck. He manoeuvred them so that they were not on view to anyone who might walk down the corridor.

"What would your father have said about that?" Tom joked breathlessly when they broke apart.

"He would have blamed it on too much American influence over the past few weeks. Oh, Tom can we really do this?"

"What, go to Ireland together?" He shrugged. "Who can stop us?"

She kissed him again, though not as ravenously as before and watched him as he walked reluctantly back to his own room before anyone else was awake.


	9. Chapter 9

_Well, here we are! Thank you so much for sticking with me. I still get excited when someone new puts this fic on alert!_

_Anyway, my impatience means that this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine!_

_Also, this is the closest I've ever got to writing my own character, so please let me know what you think, good or bad!_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>The Inky black sky which had encompassed America and remained with them for much of the journey, finally gave way to a clear view of the Irish coast which was lining the Horizon. Sybil stepped out on deck and found Tom standing at the front of the ship, staring out at his homeland. Sybil snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, in a way only her newfound freedom would allow.<p>

"Good Morning." She greeted. "Glad to be home?"

Tom gave a hum of contentment in response. "Even more so now that you are with me." There was a pause as he contemplated continuing. "I dreamt about this, when we were at Downton, me showing you my home country. It's just a shame we won't have a car." Sybil laughed. Tom's good mood was radiating off him today.

"So what do you suggest we do once we've docked?" She asked as they drew closer.

"Get the train back to Dublin, then it's a short walk and you can meet whatever family of mine is at home. Then I suppose we need to arrange where we are both staying."

Sybil felt her stomach clench even as he said it. A few of the girls she'd worked with in London had spoken about meeting their fiancés parents for the first time, but Sybil wasn't a fiancée. She was going to come across as a foreigner, an alien, an enemy. Plus in her social circles it tended to be the case that you'd known the parents for a long time and were only introduced to the son after you were of age, or after you'd been deemed an acceptable potential partner. Sybil felt annoyance bubbling in her once again in regards to how little her upbringing had taught her about real life.

~X~

The subsequent train journey across Ireland was uneventful, with both them preoccupied with their thoughts. Sybil had adopted her usual position against his side. Tom absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair as he stared out of the window at the blurring countryside. Eventually they arrived in Dublin and Tom bounded up the path of one of the many townhouses. As they waited for the door to open, Tom curled his fingers around Sybil's, a gesture she was tremendously grateful for.

"Tom! I've been expecting you all day! Have you eaten anything, because there's plenty for you? Mrs Abercrombie was saying only last week how unaccommodating the trains are nowadays. Have you had a good journey? All the way from America must have been hard in one go. Still I'm glad you are back. Heavens girl, haven't you finished that yet?" Mrs Branson dashed back into the kitchen, from which the most delectable aroma was seeping, leaving Tom and Sybil in the tiny cluttered hallway.

"Shall I take your coat?" Tom asked Sybil. She nodded, still bewildered by the informality and purely by the fact she was now in Tom's home. He'd seen most of Downton, but she'd never seen anything this personal of his. "Ready to be introduced properly?" Tom's voice broke through her thoughts. She merely nodded again and let Tom lead her into the Branson Kitchen. "Ma, this is a friend of mine; Sybil Crawley." He interrupted, forcing both women to look at him. "Sybil, this is my mother and my sister."

Mrs Branson raised her eyebrow at the word 'friend' but warmly shook Sybil by the hand. "Sybil. Nice Irish name. Are you from around here, or has Tom dragged you all the way from America?"

"Well, um, we met in England, but I have travelled with Tom from America."

"Are the women in America really as beautiful as they say?" Tom's sister asked.

"Hush Darrell. Gravy doesn't stir itself. Tom, if Miss Crawley wishes to wash up please show her up to the bathroom. I'll not have you forgetting your manners in this house!"

"Yes Ma."

~X~

Dinner was fun. The four of them shared the little wooden table with a steaming pot of stew and a loaf of bread. Despite having several questions aimed at her, Sybil remained quiet for most of the meal. The genuine conversation was a pleasant contrast to the stilted dining room meals that she could remember, and she learnt quickly where Tom had got his rather direct approach from. If you didn't jump in quickly, the conversation had moved on. The contrast in moving from here to Yorkshire must have been greater than she'd imagined, so it was no wonder Tom had started up conversation in the car.

Once they'd finished eating Tom got up to prepare some hot water in which to wash the dishes. Darrell flitted about with various bits of crockery and Mrs Branson took a firm stance next to her son and the kitchen sink, while Sybil stood awkwardly at the back of the kitchen.

"Darrell, show Miss Crawley to the spare bedroom and fetch her anything she might need. I want to talk to Tom here."

Sybil knew Tom well enough to see the wave of surprise cross his features before she was whisked away by his sister. Tom waited in silence, aware that his mother was keeping a mental track of where the women were in the house. Once she'd heard a door click she turned to her son.

"I want the whole story, Tom. I can tell by her accent that she's a well bred young lady and I can only think of a few reasons why you would bring her here and none of them are good." Mrs Branson's tone was serious.

"Ma, it's nothing bad." She watched him sceptically as he nervously manoeuvred a plate with his good hand. "It's just not that great."

"If she's in trouble it would be better to come out with it now rather than a few months down the line when things start to get complicated."

Tom's eyes widened at what his mother was implying. "No, Ma, no. Jesus Christ."

"Tom Branson, there will be no cussing in this house!" his mother scolded.

"I'm not dishonourable, Ma. I can promise you that nothing of that nature has transpired between Sybil and me. It's just… well, she's of a different social class and her family wouldn't approve." Tom purposefully avoided his mother's gaze, knowing full well that her expression would tell him that she wasn't fully accepting either. "I met her while I was working for Lord Grantham." He paused. This was going to be the hard part. "She's his daughter."

~X~

Darrell had led Sybil to the spare bedroom as instructed. As they stepped through the door Sybil was struck by the crisp neatness. The walls were white, as were the bed sheets. The curtains and carpet were a pleasant shade of light blue.

"It's a very pretty room." Sybil stated.

"I'm glad you like it. I helped Ma redecorate last summer. It used to be my oldest Brother and Sister's room, but since they've both got their own places now, Ma thought it would be nice to cheer it up a bit. Do you need me to do anything?"

"Um… no, I don't think so. I got used to unpacking in America!"

"I know it's a bit forward to ask, but would you tell me about America? I've always wanted to go, so I suppose I'm quite Jealous of you already."

Sybil laughed. She liked Darrell's brutal honesty. "I wrote my friend just before we left, because I had to summarise it all. The main difference was that everything seemed bigger over there and more spread out, and everyone had more freedom…"

~X~

The audible gasp told Tom that his mother was shocked, but the silence that followed unnerved him. He didn't know whether to continue or just let her process the information. After another minute of nothing he couldn't stand it.

"Please Ma, this doesn't change anything. Sybil is still the most genuine person I know and she'd hate to be judged just because she's…"

"A member of the aristocracy?"

"Yes." Tom wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement, and the way his mother was looking at him was more penetrating, than helpful. He turned his attention back to the dishes.

After another pause, his mother continued quietly, "Tom Branson, devoted socialist goes to England fighting for Irish rights, meets an upper class young lady and comes back defending the English aristocracy."

"It's not quite that drastic, Ma. I'm still a socialist and my job is trying to get more rights for Ireland."

"Then she must be something very special. No wonder you didn't come home for Christmas when you were working there."

Tom let out a half laugh. "So, she can stay here?" he felt like a little boy again, asking permission from his mother.

"Well, yes if she's okay with that. I've never entertained a member of the upper classes before, but I want to find out more about the girl who's snagged my Tom." She patted his cheek affectionately. "It's good to have you home. Now, get on with those dishes."

"Thanks Ma."


	10. Chapter 10

Sybil and Tom spent a couple of days looking around Dublin, and 'playing the Tourist' as Edith always put it. Tom showed Sybil the neighbourhood he grew up in as well as the more popular areas. In the evenings they would have dinner, then talk or play cards or read. Sybil had been far from surprised to find the Branson Library full of political and historical volumes ranging from way back when to modern 19th century accounts. Many of the books were littered with notes from one Branson sibling or another, bemoaning certain passages or marking pages for future reference.

However, a few days were all they had because Tom had to go back to work which also meant he would be travelling around Ireland. Sybil knew she would be well looked after by Tom's mother, but she also knew she would miss him. The first week without him went quite quickly. Mrs Branson taught Sybil some new recipes, plus some tales from Tom's childhood. But the weather had been dull, so evenings spent inside were of little concern. The second week found Sybil restless. She was left on her own more since Mrs Branson paid some calls, but refused to take Sybil with her. Sybil didn't really know what to make of it. Then one evening as Sybil and Mrs Branson were preparing dinner, Darrell came home from work and hurried to her mother with an open newspaper. Sybil tried to ignore the hushed whispers, but she was unable to ignore the streak of blood down the younger girl's face as she turned.

~X~

"Ma, it's getting worse." Darrell began once they were upstairs. "Riots are starting up all over the place and I'm worried about Sybil. I don't think she should be here, but also more members of the party have been injured or arrested."

"Including yourself, my dear. I told Tom that he was foolish to get in so deep with the party. I couldn't stop him, and I can't seem to stop you from dabbling either."

Darrell wiped the gash on her forehead again. "It's not that bad. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I wish we could get hold of Tom, but I don't even know where he's been these past few days."

"Ma, are Sybil and Tom engaged?"

"Why do you ask dear?"

"Because it seems like they are. I suppose it's the way she seems a bit lost without him."

"I'm glad you've noticed that as well, because I had started to think it was just wishful thinking on my part. They're not engaged, but I think under different circumstances they'd have married a long time ago." Mrs Branson told her daughter.

"What do you mean?"

"Money, Darrell, Money."

"But I thought… Ouch!"

Mrs Branson had placed a damp cloth on Darrell's head. "Carry on. I'm just cleaning you up."

The younger girl frowned. "I thought Tom was doing quite well."

"Sometimes doing quite well isn't good enough."

"You think Sybil's family wouldn't accept Tom?" Darrell asked surprised. Mrs Branson nodded. "Is that why she hasn't written to them?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Sybil told me that she hasn't written to her immediate family in months."

'Which is about the same amount of time she's been with Tom,' Mrs Branson thought dryly. "I'll have a word with her after dinner."

"Will you tell her about Tom as well?"

"I'll see, but for now I really ought to help her with the main course." She left Darrell in the bathroom and went back downstairs.

~x~

There was a tension at dinner that Sybil hadn't felt before. Both women seemed a little on edge, especially Darrell, who was pushing her food around the plate, with her attention more focused out of the window. Sybil felt a bit worried that it was something she'd done, and this seemed to be confirmed when Mrs Branson asked to speak to her privately after the meal. Sybil went and sat on the battered sofa in the front room, feeling like she was a child about to get a scolding from her governess. Instead Mrs Branson took a seat next to her and began softly,

"I don't really know how to tell you this, but Tom told me about your social status on the first night you were here." At Sybil's expression she quickly added "I made him tell me, so don't go blaming him for that. The thing is, my dear, as an English girl it isn't really safe for you here. Darrell brought home an article that says there are riots spreading across the country."

"Is that how she got hurt?" Sybil asked.

Mrs Branson nodded before continuing. "Now, if you were my daughter in law, I wouldn't interfere, but you're not and your own family isn't here to advise you. I think it would be best if you went home."

"Mrs Branson, no I can't. Not yet! I mean…"

"Sybil, is there some misunderstanding between yourself and your family? I know it's not really my place to ask, but Darrell said you haven't written to them."

"No, I haven't." She replied, without the purpose of continuing.

"Talking about things, my dear, is sometimes the best cure."

Sybil smiled at her comment. "I don't know how much Tom has told you, but during the war I worked as a nurse. When I returned home from my nursing duties in London, I told my parents that I wanted to continue my work. They sent me to America in the hope of discouraging me. I felt cheated more than anything because they won't let me choose my own path in life."

"That's all very well, but maybe you need to try and rectify the situation, since you're not going to get a position or even make your point by sitting here." Sybil remained silent. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"It's just… Tom. I don't want to have to be parted from him again. We've had freedom these past months, which we'd never be granted in England, and it's been so wonderful." When there was no response from the older woman, Sybil felt it necessary to prompt her, "Mrs Branson?"

"There's… there's something else that I feel I ought to tell you although I would prefer not to. You know what Tom does and I hope I've made clear to you the situation in Ireland."

"Yes."

"Well, we have no way of contacting Tom. He's told us that this is for the best, but it makes little sense to me. Anyway, the paper Darrell brought back reported more violence, more arrests and all of it is centred around the Sinn Fein. Tom is not a violent person and he's been fighting his cause with words, but that's not enough for a lot of them. It's like the suffragettes. Deeds not words, or something like that, because the suffragist campaign just wasn't enough for them. I don't want you to worry, but perhaps I've been naive keeping it from you. Now I'm going to have a cup of tea. I suggest you at least think very carefully about going back to England, and I seriously recommend that you write to your family. Burning bridges is one thing, but rebuilding them sometimes requires a lot more strength and patience than any of us are prepared for."

* * *

><p><em>Not much of Tom in this one, but what did you think? ;)<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you to MissPixieWay for reading over this chapter and neatening it up! Also a thank you to BelleLitteraire for a few minor details via twitter!_

_*Gulp* technical issues. Sorry about that! Hope you enjoy :)_

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><p><em>My Dearest family,<em>

Sybil put her pen down, the greeting hardly seeming appropriate after all this time. It was a lie. She hadn't been 'dearest' since she departed for London, not properly anyway, so why should she return the favour? She took another sheet of paper and began again.

_Papa and Mama,_

She quickly scrunched the paper up and threw it across the room. Of all the people who would tear the letter up, Papa would be most likely.

_Dear Edith,_

_I am choosing to write to you because…_

Why was she choosing to write to Edith? Because she was the only one who might listen and take her seriously? Because Sybil was scared to write to anyone else? Because Edith was her sister?

…_because I feel you have respected my decisions, and because you are the most likely to forgive me for my prolonged silence. It was immature and selfish of me, and I am truly remorseful for not writing sooner._

Was she? Did she miss her family as much as everyone around her thought she did? Sybil couldn't be sure. Yes, of course she missed them as people – she missed her mother, her father and her sisters, but she didn't miss their expectations, their nagging or the way of life they'd brought her up in. Yes she was grateful, but she'd seen and done so much more which meant sitting around idle no longer agreed with her.

_But I've been so busy. America is quite amazing, and I am pleased to have had the opportunity to explore more, but my adventure has also continued in Ireland._

Should she even mention Ireland? How vividly would Yorkshire newspapers report the trouble here? Sybil felt her stomach clench as she thought about Tom. She'd been desperately worried about him since Mrs Branson had told her. It was the same feeling she'd had when he'd gone to war. The fear that she'd hoped had gone forever with the armistice, was still written on the faces of most people who walked below her window, and since Mrs Branson still wouldn't let her venture outside, her apprehension doubled with time to over think.

_However, I cannot feel regret at standing my ground. I am capable of making my own decisions and knowing my mind. I will not be treated like a doll they can lock up and control._

Did that sound too harsh? Was she being unfair again? She got up and walked across the room. She didn't want to push her family away any further, but her point had to remain clear. She would choose her own path in life.

_I do not mean to sound harsh, but I simply will not adhere to tradition when it is all so pointless._

_Please reassure Mama and Papa that I am safe, well and happy._

_Your loving sister,_

_Sybil._

She leaned back in the chair, re-reading the letter, trying to ensure that it would do some good and not just more damage. She truly didn't want them to worry about her and she certainly didn't want to share more details of her trip, but she was feeling almost as trapped in Ireland as she had at home, however much it pained her to admit to that. The situation was worse than she could possibly have ever imagined. Mrs Branson's point about going home was beginning to appeal to her. But if she went home, she would be further away from Tom with little hope of hearing from him. Sybil sighed heavily and sealed the letter, hearing Mrs Branson come through the front door as she did so. Quickly she clattered down the stairs.

"Any news?" Sybil asked.

Mrs Branson laughed at her. "No, my dear, unless you wanted to hear about the local gossip provided by the baker this morning."

Sybil gave a half laugh in response. "Not especially."

"Is that a letter?" Tom's mother sounded hopeful, having already noticed the envelope that Sybil was still clinging to.

"Oh, yes. I've written to my sister Edith. It's not going to repair everything, but I think it's a safe bet for the first one." Sybil paused. "I think I might post it tomorrow though. I want to be sure of what I've written so I think I'll sleep on it."

"That's a very sensible idea. Now, my eldest daughter has provided me with enough sewing for the next month, so I intend to make a start on it."

~x~

Sybil slept fitfully that night. Her covers kept getting twisted and she couldn't seem to get comfortable. She kept thinking about the letter she'd written and how her family would respond, as well as worrying about Tom. Also, for the first time since leaving, she thought about home. She wondered what dress Mary had worn to dinner, what Isis had found in the garden, what Mrs Patmore had prepared for dessert. It concluded with her groggily sliding out of bed, subconsciously aware that Darrell had already left and that she should have got up at least half an hour ago.

Sybil made her way downstairs to make herself some tea, but was caught first by Mrs Branson.

"Ah, Sybil dear. I was hoping I could impose on you to help me take the curtains down in here. I want to get them cleaned and the sun appears to be holding. Then I thought I would bake a fruit cake this afternoon, depending on how much of this I get done." She motioned to the heap of sewing that pooled around her. "It also depends on whether there's enough flour. I might have to pop out and get some, in which case I could get some more white cotton as well. I'm running a bit short. You're up late this morning, dear. Is everything alright."

"Perfectly, Mrs Branson. I just didn't sleep well, that's all."

"That would be the weather for you. August seems to be all heat and showers nowadays. Could you pass me those scissors?" Sybil did as she was told before retreating to the door again.

"I was going to make some tea, would you like some."

"No thank you, dear, I've still got my cup from breakfast."

~X~

Having finally got the curtains washed and outside to dry, the two women settled down for a light lunch. They chatted amicably as they ate and then cleared the plates away.

"I was going to walk down to the post office this afternoon. Did you want me to get anything?"

"Are you sure? It not that safe for…"

Sybil laughed. "Mrs Branson, I do know what it's like, and besides a walk will do me good."

"Very well. If you could get me some cotton it would save me the bother. I'll get you the money." Mrs Branson fetched her purse from upstairs while Sybil fastened her coat. "Hopefully it shouldn't come to that," the older lady said, handing Sybil the coins, "but I'd rather I gave you too much than too little. Be careful dear."

Sybil practically rolled her eyes at the protectiveness Tom's family had for her. It could be almost comical at times, when they thought that walking a few doors down the street too dangerous for her to manage. She bought the cotton thread first, before crossing the street to go to the post office. She paid the postage on her own letter, before enquiring about any messages for Mrs Branson.

As the telegram was handed to her, Sybil felt all rationale fade and her eyes grow wider. She had more or less ripped it open before leaving the shop, spotted the one word she needed and almost ran back to the house.

"Mrs Branson!" She called as soon as she got through the door. "We've got news from Tom!"

"Good or bad?" Mrs Branson had bustled into the small hallway in an instant.

"I'm not really sure." Sybil panted, handing the paper over. It was from Tom, so he was safe and that was good enough for her.

Mrs Branson read it over a few times and then once again out loud. "Sybil must pack –stop- Leaving tomorrow early – stop- Tom." She looked up at Sybil. "So does this mean he's coming to get you?"

"I don't know. I was so excited I barely read what it actually said." She admitted. Her mind was spinning with ideas. Was Tom coming to get her? Would they continue their travels? Had he been promoted and been given a desk? Sybil wouldn't know enough about his work to know if that was viable or not! Or maybe he was just sending her away. The mere possibility made her stomach drop.

Mrs Branson laughed. "Well, the only clear statement is that you must pack, so I recommend that we start with that, and assume that Tom will turn up some time this evening."

In quick response Sybil busied herself, collecting all her belongings together and piling them back in her suitcase. She was struggling a bit due to extra purchases being made on the journey, but there was a revived feeling of positivity in the house. Throughout the rest of the day new interpretations of Tom's note kept popping up, with both women and later Darrell as well on high alert in case he walked through the door. As night drew in Mrs Branson sent Sybil to bed, so she would be rested for the proposed early start.

Sybil lay there for some time thinking over her time in Ireland. Eventually she threw off the covers and walked over to the window, too excited to remain still, knowing that this was her last night and tomorrow she could be anywhere.

* * *

><p><em>Sooo... I have a question for you all. Bearing in mind that I started this fic before I knew what happened in series 2, should I pick up some of the storyline (Spanish flu) and include it (even though the timing would be slightly out) or continue with no reference. I have both options loosely plotted in my head but I would like to know what you think! PM me if you want more details, although atm there aren't many more to give.<em>

_Looking forward to hearing from you._

_~Syblime :)_


	12. Chapter 12

_Completely un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine! Sorry again for the lenght of time between updates, and thanks to everyone for sticking with me!_

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>Sybil was aware that someone had shaken her shoulder to wake her. Slowly blinking her eyes open she expected to see Darrell's messy braid and lopsided grin. Instead she saw a few strands of light brown hair obstructing a familiar pair of gorgeous blue eyes.<p>

"Tom!"

She sat up quickly, nearly hitting her head against his on her way up. He pressed his finger to her lips.

"I told Ma to get some sleep. She'd been sitting up half the night waiting for me. I never meant for her to do that." He whispered.

"She's been so worried about you Tom. We all have. It was such a relief to finally hear from you." She whispered back.

He took her hand, caressing her fingers for a few moments before replying. "I'm sorry I couldn't contact you, but it was safer that way. Are you nearly ready to go? There's a ferry that leaves at quarter to seven."

Sybil nodded. "Where are we going?"

"England. It's not safe here anymore. There are riots everywhere. And I quit the party." He muttered the last bit so quietly that Sybil barely heard.

"Why?"

"It's all getting out of hand. There's too much violence and I don't want to be part of that." Sybil only nodded again. "I'd better let you get dressed. Do you need me to take anything downstairs?"

"Only the case." She indicated to her white suitcase, neatly placed in the corner by the door. Tom took it and left the room. Sybil took a deep breath and proceeded to get dressed in the heavy air of the early morning.

~X~

As they left the house, the street was completely empty. It reminded Sybil of her night shifts in London, with no-one except a few pigeons sharing the pavement. She and Tom continued wordlessly across the city, until they walked passed Dublin station.

"Would it not be quicker to go by train?" She asked.

Tom visibly stiffened. "There have been a few issues with drivers not letting certain people on board." He told her, but Sybil could see in his face that there was more he wasn't saying. "Are you alright walking?" He looked at her with sudden concern.

"I'm fine. I just thought it would be easier." She justified. Tom nodded slowly, and suddenly Sybil felt like the troubles she'd seen were only the tip of the Iceberg.

Winding their way across the city took about two hours, but Tom stopped just before they reached the dock.

"Sybil," he turned to her seriously, "I need you to buy the tickets and then just get on the ship. I'll meet you on board later, but I can't be seen leaving Ireland."

"Why not?" Not for the first time that morning Sybil watched fear cloud his features.

"I will explain, just not right now." His voice was low. "It's best you keep this with you." He handed her suitcase to her. "Just in case…" the words hung heavy in the air as he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. In the next instant he was gone.

~X~

On board the ship, Sybil strategically placed herself out on deck, so that she was visible. Watching the waves, light grey smashing against the side of the boat as it ploughed its way forwards, she offered up a silent prayer for Tom's safety. After a while he appeared silently behind her, much like she had when they arrived in Ireland.

"Fancy a game of cards?" Tom said jokingly as Sybil turned to face him with a gasp.

"Tom, you're soaked!" He shrugged at her statement, prompting her to roll her eyes at his continued secrecy and drag him to their cabin to find a towel.

~X~

There was something powerful and a little illicit in using her name for both her and Tom. Mr and Mrs Crawley had been signed neatly into the inn's register, because Tom was reluctant to use his own name, close to the docks in Liverpool. He still hadn't explained why he was so on edge, but Sybil trusted that he would tell her when he was ready.

"It feels strange being back in England after being away for so long," She mused, placing her bag to one side and sliding to sit on the floor against the bed. "but nice, I guess."

"You must be looking forward to seeing your family again." Tom sat down beside her, a habit they had developed in America.

"I am." She admitted, lacing her fingers with his.

"I'm sure your sisters have missed having you there, keeping the peace." He added playfully. Sybil grinned.

"Hmm, they softened up during the war, but if they grew even as half as bored as I was, I'm sure they'll have had some fights. It all seems so silly now."

"What about your sister and Mr Matthew? Do you think they'll have come to an agreement?"

Sybil looked at the floor. Due to her lack of contact, her sister could well have been married to Matthew, and she wouldn't be any wiser.

"I hope so. Mama would love a wedding, although they had both found other partners during the war."

"Really?"

Sybil nodded. "Edith kept me well updated while I was in London. She has quite a talent for taking mundane situations and turning them into interesting episodes on paper. Mary's writing is always rather blunt in comparison."

Tom laughed. "Has Lady Edith…"

"What?" Sybil prompted.

"Well, she seemed to enjoy learning to drive, and like you having a purpose. I just wondered if she'd ever considered writing professionally, but then I just… it seemed like a daft question."

It was Sybil's turn to now laugh. "You should suggest it!" She looked at him, her eyes wide in excitement, reminding him of the young girl he used to drive to rallies that she shouldn't be attending. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Maybe I will." Tom smiled. "What would she write?"

Sybil scrunched her nose up. "She doesn't have the aptitude for anything too heavy, like politics, and she's too flighty to write a whole novel."

"Articles for a newspaper?"

"I'm not sure Papa would be very approving."

"Well, what about a magazine?"

"I guess. I could see her really enjoying that actually."

"And it would save William from ironing another newspaper!" Tom chuckled.

"William has to iron the newspapers?" Sybil parroted. "Why?"

"To dry the ink."

"All the years I've lived in that house and I never even knew that!"

"It's not a conversation you're likely to have over kedgeree in the morning"

Sybil swatted Tom playfully. "I never really liked kedgeree anyway."


End file.
